Almost 18 years ago, I looked at the babe lying in my arms and wondered for the hundredth time what I had done to make her hate me so much.
I know now my sweet angel did not hate me, but at the time, I had no idea what was wrong with her. I had never heard of Autism or Aspergers Syndrome. I only knew that nothing I was doing seemed to work. What was wrong with me? Why was I such a terrible Mother? Why could I not give my baby relief? Peace? Calm? Joy? Why was all of it beyond my grasp? The only peace came in the brief 5 minute naps she took in sheer exhaustion from screaming. I held her almost round the clock, wrapped, snuggled, rocked and tried to feed her. I did everything "they" told me I should do.
As parents we put so much stock in what "they" say. As "studies" are put forward saying we should have this kind of nappy, or that kind of bedding. That our babies need this sort of holding, and that much cuddling a day... or that much being left to cry it out. How much food it too much, how much sleep is enough, how many times a night they should be waking us... on and on it goes.
Looking back, I can see that if I'd followed my gut more, and been guided by "them" less, my daughter and I would probably have been a little calmer and happier... but I was 21yo, a new Mum who was so exhausted from lack of sleep, I couldn't find it in me to have even a sliver of faith in myself or my knowledge. Especially when every time we went to see a baby health nurse or Doctor, I was told everything I wasn't doing & how many things I should have been doing differently.
Motherhood was all I had ever wanted. I had grown up dreaming of being a Mother. I knew I was young, but I had married young and prior to her birth, I could not have felt more ready. I loved her more than I ever dreamed I could love a person, yet loving her felt harder and harder by the day and I wondered more and more if she'd simply be better off with someone who was capable of making her happy & giving her the comfort and peace I felt I was failing to provide her with.
I quickly began to learn being a Mother was not all I had dreamed it would be. Constant battles with thrush and mastitis, brought on by excessive amount of milk production. Projectile vomiting due to my babe having bad reflux immediately followed every feed time. She would scream from hunger, scream from struggling to eat, scream when I held her, scream when I put her down. I came to dread feed times as much as she did. The more I tried, the more she screamed. I longed each day for those tiny 5 minute naps when I could catch my breath for a moment before her screaming started all over again.
Some days I would place her in the cot as she screamed. I would make sure she was safe & secure, then I would head out to the back yard & shut the door. I know may people would have a fit at me leaving her in the house on her own... but that act was the sole thing that prevented me from causing harm to my baby. I didn't want to hurt her, I wanted to make her happy. At times though, I was pushed to the brink of losing it. In those moments, when throwing her through the window was more tempting than I care to admit, the time I spent in the back yard was what saved both our lives.
I was constantly told by my spouse to 'shut that baby up'. If I dared leave him with her while I raced down the street for something I needed to make dinner, he'd call me, not say a word and put our screaming baby on the phone. The angrier he became, the less I left her with him. It wasn't worth the cost.
For two months, I persevered with breastfeeding. Desperate to 'do the right thing' for my baby. The pressure to breastfeed was unbelievable, and I truly did want to. I loved the fact my body could provide nourishment for my baby, but the battle to feed her was torture for both of us. The pain of feeding her while she fought me was horrendous... and I had the blisters, bruises and bleeding tears in my skin to show for our efforts. One day however, I simply couldn't take her refusal any more and I made "terrible Mother choice number one" - and I expressed enough milk to give it to her in a bottle. I felt laden with guilt as I made that bottle while my daughter screamed her lungs out in her bouncinette. I had been told by the baby health nurse not to give her bottles. That it would make it harder to feed her, along with a list of other reasons for why bottles were evil and wrong. I did it anyway.
Follow that up with what I viewed as "terrible mother choice number two" and as I pushed away images of the frowns and displeasure I knew the nurses were going to give me... I did not pick my baby up. I left her in the bouncinette, grabbed a couple of cloth nappies & propped the bottle in her mouth for her to feed herself. I figured she was going to scream anyway, so why pick her up?
I waited... ready for her to spit it out and scream. But it didn't happen. She was silent. She was *eating* and she did not cry for the entire bottle. She drank a full 120ml for the first time, and once she was done.. she continued to be quiet. I was stunned and couldn't help but wait for the screaming to begin again, yet she lay there looking at me calmly. I picked her up to burp her, and she instantly began screaming once more, quickly followed by a massive projectile vomit. But in there... there was a glimmer of hope, for my baby girl had finally not cried for longer than 5mins.
Over the next couple of weeks I continued to express her milk and giving her bottles. I tried periodically to breast feed her again, but each time produced the same screaming battle with her as had existed since her birth. Holding, rocking or bathing her... anything that required continued physical touch continued to prompt massive screaming sessions. So more & more I began to leave my daughter in her bouncinette or pram. Combined with a visit to a residential unit (I'll write more about that later) gradually she began to calm. The occasional smile came out of her and bit by bit we found a measure of peace settle between us.
Things still weren't perfect, I still felt like she hated me & that I was a failure as a Mother because I simply could not calm my baby in any of the ways I was told to, but we battled on, both surviving, both still breathing & taking each day as it came.
It would be a further 12 years before my daughter was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome - such a long, long time to go without knowing why things were how they were, but as she grew, we made our peace and found moments of happiness and joy in our days.... and I even received the occasional hug and kiss - only ever on her terms, but they happened, and each one made my day & eased my heart.
~M~
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